CAMOUFLAGE

© 1999 by H. David Blalock

It was its strength that drew him, its timeless presence.  Great, straight and powerful in its permanence, the oak stood a full thirty feet tall in the lower end of the exercise field.  After each day's exertions, Jason would find himself seated under its branches, watching the passing of the clouds through its leaves, listening to the soft voice of the foliage as it breathed against the sky.

At the other end of the field, Our Lady of Infinite Mercy Sanatorium stood starkly against the hillside, a series of boxes joined erratically in the fashion of old government buildings long abandoned by their designers and given over to other purposes.  It was kept meticulously clean, well painted and swept by a crew of maintenance workers who swarmed over it with the single-mindedness of worker bees over their queen.  Their faithfulness was comforting, as comforting as the tree's presence was consoling.  He needed these things, and for them he had come to Infinite Mercy.

His memories were no longer an open wound, but a healing scar.  Still, there were the nights when he lie awake, listening to the intermittent sound of distant traffic on the road, and the dream would want to come back.  But he would refuse, and think of the tree.  He would conjure its presence as he lay there in the dark, and the dreams would falter in the face of its power.  He would remember the patterns of its leaves against the pale blue of the afternoon sky, and the dreams would retreat into the darkness of the unremembered; they were never forgotten, only restrained, for the human mind remembers all.

An orderly was making his way across the lawn toward him.  Jason stood to meet the man.  It was old Arnie.  Jason liked Arnie.

"Hiya, Jason," Arnie said as Jason stood and leaned away from the tree.  "Ready for dinner?"

"Thanks," he said, and fell into step beside the old man as he turned back toward the building.

"Like that tree," Arnie said for the thousandth time.  He seemed to think this was a profound statement, and Jason never denied that.  "Thirty feet tall if it's an inch."

"Yes," was all that needed to be said.

"Lasagna tonight," Arnie went on, smiling slightly.  "Wife says it'll make you fat..."

Jason caught the worried glance Arnie gave him as he stopped his sentence.  The old man seemed suddenly embarrassed and his distress made Jason want to reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder.  They passed the last few steps in silence to the door of the building.  Arnie was supposed to see that all the patients left the exercise field before dark, so he would have to leave Jason at the door, but there was something between them now, something Arnie felt needed fixing.  He faltered in his step, reaching to open the door for Jason.

"I didn't mean..." he began, but then his courage failed him.

Jason lay his hand on the man's shoulder.  He smiled his genuine amicability at Arnie and said, "Get the others, Arnie.  I'll be all right."

The relief on the old man's face gladdened Jason's heart, and, as the door swung shut behind him, he heard Arnie's footfalls on the steps as he went to retrieve the others.

He threaded his way through the labyrinthine ways of the building toward the dining hall, passing the staff offices, doctor's offices, patients' quarters, and recreation rooms.  The walls were a uniform beige, clean and preternaturally flawless.  The dining room was as clean and free of clutter as the rest of the edifice.  Tables were arranged carefully to take advantage of the space available without giving the impression of crowding.  A step from the front door of the dining hall brought him to the line that wound around to the cashier past the buffet.  Staff, doctors, patients, all ate in the same room.  Only the administrator and his board had a separate dining room, and that was normally used only for entertaining.  There was a feeling of camaraderie here in Infinite Mercy that gave Jason pleasure.  

The lasagna was delicious; hot, cheesy, and heavy with garlic.  Jason savored the aromatic musk of the food and chewed thoughtfully as he watched the others come in.

There were only about 50 patients at Our Lady of Infinite Mercy.  There was a waiting list that stretched for years.  He had been extraordinarily lucky that his case had come to the attention of the board, and that the chief administrator had taken a particular interest in him.

He zeroed in on that thought.  He had been at Infinite Mercy for almost two years, and in all that time he had never summoned the courage to approach the board as to why they had chosen him for treatment ahead of all those waiting.  There was a part of him that wanted to go on without asking why, just immerse itself in the gentle kindness of the sanatorium and quietly fade into the future.  But, with every day, the part of him that asked that question grew more strident.  It demanded to know the answer, and soon, Jason knew, the answer would have to be found.  The anxiety at that thought was less and less acute nowadays.  He was almost ready.

After dinner, he returned to his room.  His nightclothes were neatly stacked and folded on the chair by the bed.  The book he had been reading was placed on the nightstand near the lamp, the tassel of a bookmark draped over the edge of the table from its niche between the pages.  The bed itself looked inviting, the pillow thick and set against the headboard with care, the sheets pulled open and folded back on one side to show the pattern of the fitted sheet underneath.  The scent of the room itself was colored by the perfume of a vase of flowers that stood atop the reading table by the ventilator.

He picked up the book, pulling it open at the mark.  As he started to scan the page, there came a polite knock at the open door.  He turned to face a smallish, mustachioed, spectacled and balding man in a sports coat and jeans.

"Dr. Genrich," Jason said, closing the book and replacing it on the nightstand.  "Please, come in."

Dr. Genrich nodded his thanks and sauntered into the room and closed the door.  He lowered himself into the chair by the bed.

"Is it Thursday already?" Jason said, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing the doctor.  "Seems like you were just here."

"Yep.  Time flies, doesn't it?"  The doctor grinned and his gaze took in Jason's demeanor.  "Glad to see you're getting along so well, Jason," he began.  "And putting on some weight, eh?"  He chuckled.  Jason smiled in spite of himself.  "Seriously, how is everything?"

Jason folded his hands into his lap and regarded the man.  He knew all the doctors at Infinite Mercy by sight, Dr. Genrich best of all. Today, though, Dr. Genrich seemed uncomfortable about something.  "I'm coming along, Dr. Genrich, better every day."

"Your hearing is set for next Thursday, Jason," Genrich began, his fingers restlessly drumming on the pages of the folder.  "What do you think about that?  Are you ready?"

Jason looked at Genrich.  The doctor was watching him, obviously trying to read his expression, his overall air.  Jason grinned.  "I'm ready, doc.  Two years here has done it for me."

Genrich nodded absently, avoiding Jason's eyes.  When he spoke, he was looking at his hand and his tone was vacant, almost lifeless.  "Yeah.  You're ready."

Jason waited.  He felt Genrich wanted to tell him something, and he knew that the doctor would eventually get around to it.  Genrich ground his teeth together and looked away from Jason.  For the space of a few moments, Jason thought he wasn't going to speak.  Then, the doctor suddenly turned an anguished face to him.

"Morrell took you in to Infinite Mercy because of the circumstances of your accident.  You fit a profile for a study he's doing, one he hopes to publish and..."  Genrich stopped and almost gasped.  "I've been a psychiatrist for a long time, Jason.  I know the dangers of becoming involved in the patient's delusion.  I also know when a patient is whole and when he is not."  The doctor stopped again and passed his hand over his face. “Morrell is convinced this new drug can induce a mental state similar to mild hypnosis.  According to him, this would make the patient more pliant, more responsive to treatment for paranoia, schizophrenia…”  Genrich's brow furrowed at him.  "He wants me to increase your medication," Genrich said at last.  "I told him I didn't think it was necessary."  He looked up at Jason.  "He told me I was losing my objectivity."

Jason sat quietly and tried to encourage the man without interrupting.  The doctor stood and walked to the door, aimlessly trying to gather his thoughts.

"I guess I am.  Losing my objectivity.  But I can't believe that what he's doing is right."

He looked at Jason for support.  Jason nodded his agreement and approval.  He knew there was more to what Genrich wanted to say, and there was a growing sense of disquiet in himself that seemed to be the edge of something hard, a reality of conflict, that Genrich stirred within him.

"I don't know how much of this you understand.  Maybe none of it.  But," he reached for Jason's arms and grabbed them firmly. Genrich leaned forward and his voice dropped almost to a whisper.  "Don't trust Morrell.  He's a megalomaniac.  He's using the people here for his own benefit.  There's nothing wrong with you.  It's the medication you're given.  It causes just enough confusion to make you doubt yourself.  If you stop taking it, you can... Don't eat anything but greens and sugars.  No meats.  Understand?  No meat."

Jason nodded, slightly alarmed at the man's sudden intensity.  His emotion was intimidating and Jason felt vaguely afraid of it.  "Okay doc.  I promise."

A knock at the door men jump guiltily.

"Yes?"

Dr. Hiram Morrell entered with the air of a man unaccustomed to delay.  He stopped momentarily at the sight of Genrich.  A dark cloud briefly settled over his features, but cleared to reveal the open, friendly expression he usually showed the patients.

"Jason, Dr. Genrich," he said.  "Well, Jason, how are you?  Are you having a problem?"

Jason saw the opening and took it.  "Well, yes, I've been having some bad dreams and wanted to talk to Dr. Genrich about them.  Luckily, he was nice enough to make the time."

"Of course.  That's what we're here for, right, Genrich?"

"Yes, sir."

“Dr. Genrich,” Morrell said in a carefully regulated voice, “may I have a word with you?”  He motioned toward the door and Genrich, head lowered, followed it.  "We'll talk later, if you want, Jason," Morrell said to him, causing a slight chill down Jason's spine.

Jason closed the door behind them.

Jason leaned his head against the bark of the tree and closed his eyes.  He could smell the green of the leaves overhead and the grass below.  Life flowed into him from that green, a quiet, still life that calmed his nerves and let him think more clearly.

What had Dr. Genrich meant about Morrell?  A megalomaniac?  How could he or any of the other patients at Infinite Mercy be of any use to him?  And, the medication he'd been taking... Unnecessary?  The implications of the assertions left him in a whirl.  Was Morrell using unauthorized drugs on mental patients in some kind of private research project?  Genrich certainly acted as if he'd had an irresistible attack of conscience.  Perhaps Morrell was forcing him to participate in this research.

It was too much for him.  Besides, it was so out of order.  Everything at Infinite Mercy was geared to the benefit of the patient.  No expense was spared, the accommodations were the best in the field, and the staff were the foremost authorities in psychiatric medicine in the world.  How could unauthorized or illegal activity go undetected in such an atmosphere?

He opened his eyes and let the green of the leaves soak into them, soothe them with their slow swaying and rustling against the sky.  A flicker of movement caught his attention.  Through half opened eyelids, he watched a small brown bird preening itself on one of the lower branches.  Its actions were strangely compelling, almost hypnotic.  Peck, drag along the wing, peck.  He watched it in delight and curiosity.

Suddenly, it was gone.  At first, he had the impression it had simply disappeared, but then he knew that was impossible.  It couldn't have simply flown off without his seeing it.

Slowly he sat upright and stared more intently at the branch.  There seemed to be just a hint of movement there, as if something were furtively attempting to settle into the branch.  As he watched, something liquid dropped from the underside of the bough.  He rose and walked to the spot.

It was a tiny bit of blood, slowly darkening in the air.

The realization took a moment to get to him.  The bird was dead; a sudden, bloody death in the gentle, sheltering confines of the tree.  How was that possible?  He looked around.  Someone might have shot the bird, but he didn't remember a shot.  And, had there been one, surely one of the others would have noticed and reacted to it.  But there were patients walking across the lawn as if nothing had happened.  And he could see Arnie nodding in the morning sun on a bench near the building.

He looked again at the branch.  The spot of blood was a horrible non sequiter.  Hesitantly, he reached out to touch it, expecting to find it a figment of his imagination, and yet dreading that as well.

His finger came back damp with blood.

Suddenly it occurred to him he had not seen the bird fall.  It was dead, or perhaps only injured, but its body must still be in the tree.  The thought of the poor thing injured, clinging desperately to the bough, made him bolt for the trunk.  Hurriedly, he climbed high enough to see the top of the branch.  There was nothing there.  Puzzled, he climbed around to the opposite side of the trunk.  Still, he could find no evidence of the bird.  Surely, he thought, it could not have flown into the tree without his noticing it?  He tried to pierce the thickness of the foliage with his gaze, but the leaves were summer heavy.  He would need a ladder and pruning shears to find the bird in that.  If it was there at all.

Somehow he knew that, no matter how hard he might try, he would never find that bird.

Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground.  Arnie stood a few feet away, watching him.

"Watcha doin'?"

Jason brushed the bits of moss and bark from his clothes and looked up into the tree, stalling, trying to think.

"Something wrong?" Arnie pressed.  He followed Jason's gaze and squinted.  "See something in the tree?"

Jason considered asking Arnie about what he had seen, but the unlikeliness of it kept him from it.  Arnie might have seen Jason under the tree, but surely couldn't have been able to see the tiny bird.  The old man had been napping, after all.  Jason shook his head.  "No, just felt like a little exercise.  Getting to know the tree, you know?"

Arnie looked at him quizzically, but didn't seem up to pursuing the issue.  "Yeah, okay.  But you really should be careful.  You could fall."

"Thanks, Arnie.  I'll remember that next time."

Slowly, the old man turned and made his way back to the bench.  Once he glanced over his shoulder at Jason, as if to assure himself that Jason was not planning another climb.  Jason settled back down under the tree and leaned back to watch the movement of the green.

Something had gone out of the tree.  The sense of security.  The bird's disappearance made him uneasy about the patterns woven over his head in the foliage.  Where before they had formed pleasing designs in the trouble of his mind, now they haunted that trouble, almost encouraging it to assert itself against his control.

He sat up and forced himself to look at the building.  Its hard lines against the hillside steadied the trembling that had begun in his mind.  He stood and made his way from underneath the tree.  For a brief, terrifying moment, it seemed he had turned his back on something incredibly dangerous.  A tingle crawled along his spine and he spun, gasping, expecting what he did not know.

Only the tree met his discomfited attention.  It stood quiet and inscrutable, seemingly innocent.  Yet he knew it was not.

Quickly, he hurried into the building and the safety of his room.

The following morning he avoided the bacon and sausage, settling for cereal and toast with his juice.  The intensity of Genrich's demand hung in the air around as if it had just been uttered. Jason shook his head and found that the juice tasted a little odd.  Uneasily, he hefted the glass and tried to fathom the depths of the liquid through the frosted surface. Then the thought of what he was doing took hold.  He was becoming suspicious.

Slowly, he placed the glass back on the table.  He looked around at the others in the dining hall.  There were nearly thirty others but until this second he had been unaware of them.  He had known they were there, but the fact that they were people, with thoughts and dreams, had somehow slipped his mind.  He looked back at the glass of juice.  The hard edge of reality welled in his mind and suddenly he was back in the car.

They had been on their way to the mountains for their semi-annual outing at the cabin.  He was tucked in behind the wheel of the car, listening to her as she struggled with the safety belt on the baby seat.  The baby had discovered the secret button that released him from its confines, and they hadn't had time to buy a different seat whose secrets he'd have to rethink.  So she kept a weather eye on him, spending more time looking in the back than out the windows at the scenery.  She didn't mind, though.  The ride only took forty-five minutes, and she'd grown up within ten minutes of the area, so it was all very familiar to her.  Many times he'd offered to stand guard on the baby and let her drive, but she preferred to do it herself.  She called it "bonding with the baby."  He chuckled when he thought of that.

The road wound around the perimeter of a bluff of loose rock.  Four lanes, hardtop, cleaned by a recent drizzle, the bright yellow of the center lines cut the black of the asphalt like rays of light in a night sky.  They were the only vehicle on the road, and he felt no need to hurry.  To his left, across the opposite traffic lane, the road fell into the valley, its blues and purples and greens forming intricate and glorious patterns that changed subtly as he moved.  In the distance, the furthest mountains began to catch the last light of the fading sun as it dropped below the horizon behind the hill he climbed.  Twilight began to settle in a thickening mist.  Night crawled over the mountains to his east and advanced on them quickly, trailing stars behind.

He hugged the turn against the rock face, feet from his passenger door, the engine humming quietly, and heard the baby cackle with glee at the metallic click and flurry of sound as she reached to relatch the belt.

It was only a moment.  A single lapse of attention.  The car should have continued its turn, but he relaxed his pressure against the wheel.  The wheels caught the asphalt and carried them suddenly, it seemed, so suddenly, into the opposite lane.

He almost made it.  The cars in the other lane were geared down for the incline.  They tried to avoid him, some racing for the rock face, others trying over squealing brakes to break the laws of physics that threw them together.  He had to turn to see if she was all right.

She was facing his way, trying to reach the belt on the baby chair.  In the moment of impact, she must have sensed something was wrong, because her eyes caught his and saw the panic there.  He had had time to see the car over her shoulder bearing down rapidly, so incredibly quickly, to see the other driver throw his arms up to ward off the coming blow.  She might have tried to turn, but there wasn't time.  She seemed to leap at him, but her belt kept her from coming all the way across the seat.  She stopped before the frame could.

The car leapt backwards, away from its attackers, and he saw the baby, as if it were trying to protect its mother, jump into her lap.  Then they disappeared into the metal of the ruined passenger door, swallowed by the wreckage.

There was such a noise, such a crying out of metal on metal, glass and steel, that his own cry was drowned in it.  He wanted to throw himself into that thing that had consumed her and the baby.  It chewed them and swallowed as if it was alive, and he could not close his eyes.  He could not turn away, he was pinned by his belt and the wheel held him upright.  All he could do was open his mouth and scream.

He was still screaming when the other drivers, some injured, others only shaken, were carried from their cars and tended by the paramedics.  He screamed when they finally removed him from the car.  He screamed when they strapped him into the guerney.  He screamed when they inserted the needle.  He screamed in his mind when the sedative took hold and his throat would no longer scream.

He woke screaming at Infinite Mercy four days later.  They sedated him.

Then he began to dream.

"Jason?"

The voice cut through his thoughts, bringing them to a shattering halt.  He trembled with the aftershock, his face tingling for lack of blood.  His sight was slow to come back to him, but his hearing was more acute than he'd ever remembered it.  Although some of what he heard made no sense, he heard things with a clarity that drew amazement from his stunned psyche, formed an anchor on which to base his recovery from the depths of the memories that had nearly drowned him.

"Are you all right, Jason?"

The face was familiar now.  He forced his thoughts to form a line from sight to recognition.  Arnie; it was Arnie.  Next, he knew the old man was expecting an answer.  Now, what kind of answer was he expecting?

"You just sit still.  I'll go get Dr. Genrich."

Jason's hand shot out without his asking and clutched Arnie's arm.  "No."  The croak hardly seemed his own, but he knew now what Arnie wanted.  "No, Arnie, that's okay.  The juice just went down the wrong way is all.  I'm okay."

Arnie hovered uncertainly, not attempting to free himself from Jason's grip.  "Sure?"

Jason let him go and nodded.  "Sure.  Thanks anyway."

Arnie wandered away very slowly, looking back often, but eventually became involved with another orderly in conversation.  Jason made a point of finishing his breakfast just as slowly, giving Arnie time to forget the incident, and giving himself time to pull his own thoughts together.

Something had changed in the way he felt about his surroundings.  They no longer seemed comforting and safe.  Not that there was a threat in them, just that the safety had bled out of them.  He might be looking at a different place, a place less personal, less family.  The grass was manicured severely, the low stone wall seeming to confine rather than define.  He scanned the dining hall and grounds mentally, finding in himself a totally different understanding of Infinite Mercy.

It was an asylum, not a sanatorium.

He rose, moved to the door.  Arnie watched him briefly, then went back to his conversation.  The other patients and staff ignored him as if he were nothing more than vapor.  In a few moments, he was outside, striding toward the tree.

Everything about the grounds seemed subtly different.  It was as if during the night a groundskeeper had come and rearranged things in unseen and unsuspected ways.

And there was something else wrong.  It stood, as always, just a tree, but he could not shake the feeling of wrong.  There was something odd about it, about the way the light struck the trunk, as if the sun had moved in an arc to more completely light the texture of the bark...  Or the tree had turned to more fully face the light?

He stopped.  He was about twenty feet from it now.  He knew what was wrong.

The tree had moved.

Disbelief welled up in him.  Trees didn't move on their own.  Just as they didn't kill birds, right? a part of him said.  Again he saw that small brown bird preening itself, all unsuspecting.  Through his half closed eyes he had seen the tendril rise from the bough with a deadly, determined slowness.  He remembered that his mind had labeled it a trick of the light against the leaves, automatically rejecting the possibility the tendril could be part of the tree.  It seemed more serpentine, so impossible in itself that its existence never truly penetrated his consciousness.  Only now, faced with the bird's fate and the incredible mobility of the tree, did the tendril's presence make itself known above his subconscious memory.  It had crept toward the bird from behind, silent and lethal, its blank end seeming to locate the animal by its very essence of life.  When it struck, it clutched and broke the bird, too rapidly for the prey to even utter a startled cry.  Then, once again, it was gone, disappearing into the bough and taking the little corpse with it, leaving behind only a few drops of blood.

He opened his mouth.  His first instinct was to raise the alarm, to shout at Arnie and tell him.  But then the hard edge of reality that had been growing in him squeezed off his cry so all that escaped was a croak, little more than a whisper.  He stumbled backwards a couple of steps, unwilling to turn his back on the tree.  It seemed to be watching him, as if just beginning to suspect he might know more than he should about it.  For a frightening moment, he expected it to wrench its roots free from the ground and set out after him across the lawn, intent on crushing him as it had that bird, but the moment passed and the tree remained solidly planted, tranquilly standing there in the sun, impassively watching him.

He swallowed, and it hurt.  He realized he'd been standing with his mouth open.  His tongue was thick and dry when he licked his lips.  Finally, he turned and retreated to his room.  He looked at the book on the nightstand without interest.  It seemed inane and pointless, now that he realized what had been done to him.  He had been drugged into a stupor so that Morrell could conduct his studies.  Genrich was trying to help him but was Genrich doing him a favor?  Did a sane man see trees eating birds?  Did a sane man think trees moved along the ground?

After a very long time, sleep overcame him.

Jason stood on the steps in front of Infinite Mercy and looked at the tree.  From that distance, he couldn't determine if it had actually moved, but he knew that, for his sanity's sake, he would have to be sure it hadn't.  But how to do it?  He couldn't just try to mark the tree's position by driving a stake in the ground.  The groundskeepers were meticulous in their maintenance.  They would simply remove it.  For the same reason, he couldn't leave anything lying on the ground nearby.  He considered the tree and thought.

Then, he noticed that, from where he stood, the tree was directly in front of a telephone pole that stood by the road on the other side of the stone fence.  If he stepped just a few inches either to the right or the left, the body of the pole could be seen around the tree, but where he stood on the steps the pole was blocked by the tree's trunk.  He looked down.  The step consisted of bricks set side by side, like the graduations of a beaker.  Carefully, he counted from the western edge of the stairway to the brick under his left foot.  He stepped two bricks over and looked at the tree.  He could clearly see part of the telephone pole around the trunk.  He stepped four bricks back and checked again.  The pole could be seen.  He had his point of reference.

Next, he needed to check the actual distance the tree moved, if any.  That meant finding the exact distance the tree was from the steps.  Deliberately, he paced off the distance.  Then he went back to his room and wrote down the figures.  He had to fight the urge to just give up on what he was doing.  A part of him said it was insane, as insane as the idea that trees moved, to measure how far they went.  But another part grimly knew that, if he didn't refute or confirm the truth of the tree's movement, he would have no point of reference from which to launch his own sanity.

He avoided meat again that day, eating only vegetables and dessert.  The orderlies did not seem concerned about this, and he reasoned that they were probably not privy to Morrell's plan.  Surely, something like that would need a certain amount of secrecy to be properly carried out.  He smiled to himself.  If that were true, then perhaps Genrich wasn't as helpless as he thought.  He felt a clarity of thought he couldn't remember ever having before.  It was as if he'd been asleep all his life, and had just now awakened.  If it weren't for the tree, he would say his sanity was restored.

The next day, he went to stand on the steps, carefully counting the bricks for the exact spot.  He looked across the lawn at the tree.

The telephone pole was hidden behind its trunk.  The tree hadn't moved.

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made him sit on the step and put his face in his hands.  Could it be possible?  Could his newfound clarity of thought simply be a symptom of some form of delusion?  No, he thought.  There must be an explanation.  He had been under the influence of a drug when he'd seen the bird killed.  Perhaps it was a mild hallucinogen.  That would account for it.  But, he'd apparently been on this drug for months and that was the first time he'd ever seen anything out of the ordinary.  Or, at least, the first time he remembered.  Could the drug affect short term memory?  How could he be sure of anything he'd seen or heard since the accident?  Even Dr. Genrich?

He went back to his room and prepared for exercise period.  In his sweats, he went back outside and set about a light jog around the grounds.  He felt the need to burn off some of his excess energy.

The slow progress of the trees as he moved and the shapes they made against the sky transported him to a place he almost recognized.  He had been jogging there, too.  It was full of trees and people on picnic tables.  He remembered dogs chasing squirrels and the far away sound of traffic.  Closer, he remembered hearing the chuckling laughter of children and the sound of a baseball game.  Then he was back on the grounds of Infinite Mercy.  He had made a complete circuit of the stone fence, and was slightly out of breath.  His right leg ached a bit and he had the beginnings of a stitch in his side.  He slowed to a stop and went to sit on the steps.  Arnie was watering some bushes nearby.  He smiled at Jason.

He was certain Arnie was working for Morrell.  Why, how, he didn't know, but he was certain.  Morrell would need someone to monitor the patients for signs of change.  What better person than Arnie?

He stood and started to turn to go inside to change, then, on impulse, went to the step and counted to his spot.  Facing the tree, he looked up.-

The telephone pole was visible.

He stood thunderstruck.  Shaking his head to clear it, he recounted the bricks and looked at the tree.  There was no mistake.  The pole was clearly visible around the trunk.  He moved until the trunk covered the pole again and counted the bricks to this new point.  Then he paced out to the tree and found that it required two more paces than it had before to reach it.  With an effort, he returned to his room without running.  He took out the figures he'd written down the day before.  They confirmed what he already knew.  It hadn't moved much, only a couple of feet, but the fact remained it had moved.

He sat on the edge of his bed and tried to think.  Did he really want to believe this?  Maybe he'd written down the wrong figures yesterday.  Maybe the drug hadn't quite worn off yet and he was hallucinating.  He went back outside and measured again.  And again.

He didn't sleep well at all that night.

He woke sweating Thursday morning, the scream of twisting metal still echoing in his mind.  A sudden shaking took him and he grit his teeth until it passed.  The sweat dripped from his nose onto his covers as he slowly got out of bed and went to the basin to splash some water on his face.  The dream was little more than a dull feeling of terror any more, but it was still enough to stay with him for hours after waking.  Grimly, he set about his morning toilette to drive it out of his thoughts.  Genrich had told him that time would heal his wound.  He trusted Genrich, but somehow he knew the wound the dreams fed on was deeper than time.

The hearing was held in a conference room off the doctors' examining rooms.  Jason found the atmosphere congenial but vaguely tense, as if the examiners expected something out of the ordinary to happen.  As he took his place in the seat by Dr. Genrich across from Morrell and the three other reviewers, Jason nodded at them, smiling slightly.  One of them returned the smile briefly.

For three hours, Jason answered their questions and listened to their lecturing on behavior.  He admitted to having had nightmares when he had first arrived, but Dr. Genrich pointed out that they had stopped.  Jason agreed that he could best recover under the concerned, watchful eye of Infinite Mercy, and Genrich pointed out what he would soon be ready for return to society.  This won a hard glance from Morrell that was gone as soon as it came, so quickly that Jason thought he might have imagined it.

"Well, Jason," Morrell said, finally, "I think it's time you carried on with your schedule."  He cast a glance at Genrich and again Jason thought he caught a glint of steel in it.  "Dr. Genrich will see you out."

Jason stood and followed Genrich into the hallway and out into the exercise yard.  The doctor seemed preoccupied, and Jason was content to wait for him to broach whatever subject held his tongue.  They walked slowly along the stone fence.

"How have you been sleeping lately?"

Genrich's question had the air of something said instead of something else.  Jason looked at him and shrugged.  For some reason, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt uneasy at admitting his problems to Genrich.

"Jason," the doctor said, stopping and facing him, "does the name 'Jackie' mean anything to you?"

"...same initials and we can use the same monogrammed luggage..."

"Why would I want to use your bags?" he laughed.

"What?"

Jason looked at Genrich.  He looked around himself at the grounds and, underneath, he sensed another place, a place where people met on sunny afternoons and tossed discs back and forth.

"... is expensive, you know.  And you have to have it monogrammed if you're going to do any traveling..."

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the double image, covered his ears to try to shut out her voice.  When he opened his eyes again, he was back in his bed.  The sense of bilocation was gone, but his confusion was now feeding on the suddenness of the transition from sunshine and fresh air to fluorescent light and air conditioning.

"Dr. Genrich?" he ventured, and tried to move, to rise from the bed, but his arms would not respond and his legs remained in place.  Confused, he tried to see why, and only after a few moments understood he was restrained to the bed.  A soft sound of approaching feet caught his attention.  He looked up to see Dr. Morrell slip into the room, his rubber soles whispering against the linoleum floor.

"Why am I strapped down?"  Jason asked.

Instead of answering, Morrell began to undo the restraints and smiled at him in what Jason assumed was supposed to be a comforting way.  Somehow, the hard edge of reality that had been increasingly sharpening his senses told him there was a cold edge to that warm smile.  The doctor was holding something back, something that might be important.

For a moment, Jason suddenly realized, he'd actually considered violence against the man.  He sat, stunned and motionless, afraid that if he moved he might lose control over that impulse and attack him.  A deep shiver started inside him and only with the greatest of efforts did he contain it before it surfaced.  Morrell misread his expression.

"Now, there's nothing to be concerned about, Jason.  Everything is fine.”

A horrible feeling settled into Jason.  "What about Doctor Genrich?"

"... always so suspicious, Jason.  Can't you trust anyone?  Can't you ..."

Her voice drilled into his head painfully and he winced at each word as if it were a hot iron.  "Stop it, Jackie," he whispered without thinking.  "Stop it."  The voice quit, but the name remained.

"Jason."

He opened his eyes and with an effort focussed on the lamp overhead.  A rustle to his right drew his attention.  He forced a smile at Morrell.

"How're you feeling now?" Morrell asked, tucking the clipboard he'd been studying under one arm.  He reached for Jason's wrist and Jason fought the urge to snatch it away.

"Fine," Jason lied.  The back of his throat was raw, as if he'd been screaming non-stop for hours.  His head hurt and his eyes ached, but he was damned if he was going to tell Morrell that.  "Where's Dr. Genrich?"

Morrell looked away from his wristwatch, then dropped Jason's wrist back onto the bed and made an entry onto the clipboard.  "Dr. Genrich is no longer with us, Jason," he said in a businesslike tone that seemed to state he would entertain no unacceptable reaction to the announcement.

"Gone?"

Morrell smiled his partial smile and patted Jason's arm.  "But, you needn't worry about a thing.  I have personally taken charge of your case."

Jason caught his breath and tried not to show the dread that had suddenly settled on him.

"First thing we need to do is change your diet," Morrell mumbled, referring to the chart.  "Genrich had you on a vegetable and juice diet.  Tsk.  Not much nourishment for a convalescent, is it?"

Jason watched.

"We're going to bring you steak and potatoes, with the best cuisine our chef can prepare.  You'll be up and around in no time."  Morrell stopped and glanced at his watch.  "Oops!  I have to run.  Have a three o'clock appointment."  He leaned over Jason and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder.  "You just relax, son.  Things are going to be fine."  Without waiting for an answer, Morrell spun and left the room.  Jason allowed himself to breathe after the door slid shut.

He lay in the bed for hours, trying to make sense of the past few days.  Genrich was gone and Morrell was now his physician.  He felt that was a direct result of what had happened to him during that last walk. Obviously, Morrell sensed that something was not right with the dosage and had decided to see to it himself.

A dark unease began to build in him.  He felt his heartbeat speed up and things began to make sense to him in different ways than he remembered.  Arnie's presence was no longer that of a kindly and concerned friend, but a watchdog.  And the board members he'd testified to must have been cohorts of Morrell's, fellow researchers in this same project.  Around midnight he finally realized there was only one avenue left for him, if he wanted to keep his newfound clarity of thought and self-confidence.

A silence had settled over Infinite Mercy, a soothing quiet that made a part of his mind ask himself if he wasn't making too much of nothing.  He had forced himself to get out of the bed and peek into the corridor.  The lighting was subdued, but sufficient to show him that his room was directly in the line of sight of the nurses' station, no doubt by Morrell's design.  He could see the nurse as she worked behind the counter, the top of her head clearly visible.  Other than her, the corridor seemed empty.

A tone chimed from the direction of the station and the nurse turned to look at a status board.  She stood and moved toward it, her back to him.  Almost without thinking, he slipped out of the room and down the hallway away from the station.  Within a few seconds, the station was out of sight.

He found himself standing in a cold corridor, shivering in a hospital gown and without the slightest idea what to do next.  He made his way toward the far end of the hallway, where a set of double doors barred his progress.  Looking through the transoms, he saw that the doors led into a T-shaped intersection.  On the far wall was a sign that read  "LOBBY" with an arrow to his left and "PATHOLOGY" with an arrow to his right.  Slowly pressing on the bar, he leaned against the door and it moved quietly open.  He glanced quickly both ways, went through and held the door until it shut.

The padding of his feet was a soft sound against the floor as he glided toward the lobby.  He knew there was a maintenance room just this side of it.  He'd seen Arnie go in there a thousand times.  The chill of the corridor was setting into his bones and he felt sure there should be something there he could trade for the gown.

The door swung shut behind him and he turned to look at the equipment.  There were all the tools of the trade for a handyman; power tools, a large tool kit in the corner, one wall dominated by a pegboard filled with assorted screwdrivers, wrenches, and other paraphenalia.  He found a wide-brimmed hat, some overalls and overshoes in a corner.  He slipped the clothes on and quietly edged the door open to peek outside.  The lobby was empty.

He walked out of the maintenance room and, keeping an eye on the corridor, made his way across to the front.  The door to the outside would be locked this late, of that he was fairly sure.  He chewed on his lower lip, trying to figure out how to get it open without setting off an alarm.  He squinted at the alarm mechanism where it hung over the door.  It was a simple magnetic switch that held a contact together until the door was opened, mounted on to the door with two screws.  Looking at it, he had an idea.

A quick trip back to the maintenance room got him a screwdriver and a short length of phone wire.  He unscrewed the alarm box mounting and, holding the contacts together, spun the door assembly up and around until the mounting bracket was clear of the door.  Carefully, he tied the contacts together with the wire and eased the door open.

Nothing happened.

He stepped outside and pulled the door shut slowly so as not to jar the alarm contacts.  As the latched clicked closed, he breathed a sigh of relief.  He turned to start down the walk toward the street and was immediately struck by a bright light in his eyes.

“Jason?”

It was Arnie.  The old man must have just been coming in for the night.  He frowned at Jason, examining the younger man critically.  “What’s going on?  Why are you wearing those clothes?”

Jason thought quickly.  He realized Arnie couldn’t fathom he might be trying to escape, just that he was wandering around after lights out.  Best play that out.

“I’m going to check on the tree,” Jason said, lowering his voice and placing his fingers to his lips.  “Shhh.  Don’t wake anyone.  I’ll only be gone a minute.”

Arnie’s lips twisted into a sardonic grin.  “Oh, yeah, the tree.  But, hang on, you shouldn’t be out this late.”

Jason nodded vigorously and waved the old man off.  “I know, I know, but it’ll just take a minute.  You know, the tree moves.”

“Yeah.”

Jason stopped and looked hard at Arnie.  “You’ve seen it move?”

“You told me about it, remember?  The other day?”

“Oh.  That’s right.”

“Come on, let’s go back inside.  The tree can wait.”  Arnie stepped in front of him and pointed back at the building.

“Aw, Arnie, just a minute, that’s all I need.  Be a guy,” Jason pleaded.

Arnie hesitated and Jason could see he was fighting the idea.  Finally, the old man said, “Okay, but I’m coming with you.”

Jason had to accept that.  If he resisted, he probably wouldn’t ever have a chance again.  Morrell would be certain to prevent him ever getting out at night.  The doctors and orderlies would have strict orders to keep him locked up.

He and Arnie made their way across the yard toward the oak, Jason trying to think of some excuse to send the man away, if just for a second, just long enough to hop the stone fence and be gone.  But Arnie was determined to stay close.  Jason didn’t want to hurt the old man, but if it came to that, he was appalled to realize he was capable of it.

They reached the tree and Jason, on impulse, immediately began to climb it.

“What are you doing?” Arnie shouted.  “Come down from there!”

“Just got to check something,” Jason said in as off-handed manner as he could muster.

“You’ll fall!”

Jason stopped about ten feet up and looked down at Arnie.  “What did you say?”

“I said you’ll fall and hurt yourself,” Arnie answered.  “Get down.”

It was the perfect idea.  Jason reached out as if to pick something off the far end of a branch, let his foot slip and made a great production of thrashing around for a second.  He gauged the distance to the ground and dropped out and downhill, rolling just enough as he hit to make a terrible noise but lessen the actual impact.

Arnie scrambled to him, frantic.  “Jason?  Jason!  Are you okay?”

Jason feigned unconsciousness.

“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!  I told him!  I told him he’d fall and hurt himself.”

Jason peeked through semi-closed lids.  Arnie was chewing on a finger, looking back toward the main building.  Jason had to smile inside.  Surely, Arnie would panic and run inside for help.  That would give him the time he needed.

A motion above Arnie’s head caught Jason’s attention.  A shadow had detached itself from the larger darkness of the tree’s trunk.  Jason’s blood ran cold as he watched that shadow take on substance and snake its way down toward the old man.  Jason closed his eyes, trying to tell himself it was a trick of the starlight in the tree’s canopy.  It was a hallucination brought on by the medication or withdrawal from it.  Surely he hadn’t seen a two-foot thick tentacle reaching for Arnie.

He opened his eyes just in time to see the tentacle wrap around Arnie’s neck and tighten with a convulsive jerk.  Arnie didn’t have time to cry out before he was lifted to his feet, clawing at the tentacle with both hands.  The old man struggled and kicked and tore at the thing around his neck, eyes wide in terror, face blackening.  With a sharp rustling of leaves, Arnie was drawn up into the tree, disappearing into its nighted depths.

Jason sat bolt upright.  He heard a thrashing that was suddenly cut short, then silence.  A few leaves fluttered down on and around him.  He blinked uncomprehendingly at the sky through the canopy, caught the gleam of starlight as the foliage swayed.

There was no sign of Arnie.

He stood and brushed the fallen leaves from his overalls, looking around.  He must have hit his head when he fell out of the tree.  Stupid idea, trying to fake that fall.  He’d thought the tree had taken Arnie but the old man must have run back into the building.  That’s it.  The old man was raising the alarm right now.  He should run, get away, as far away as he could.

His fingers were oily and moist.  He held them up to his face, but couldn’t make out what covered them.  It was too dark.  He pressed them close to his nose and sniffed.

Blood.  Had he hurt himself in the fall?

He froze as a tremor shook under his feet.  There was a grinding and a creaking, followed by the whisper of moving earth.

Jason watched the tree root by his foot pull out of the ground.

“Dr. Morrell,” the orderly said, tapping gently on the door.

“Yes, what is it?” Morrell groused, looking up from a ream of paperwork atop his desk.

“Sir, we’ve found Jason Marks outside on the grounds.”

Morrell frowned.  He looked at his watch.  “Shouldn’t he be in his quarters?”

The orderly nodded.  “Yes, sir, but one of the night nurses heard noises outside and called me.  I found Marks under the big oak by the stone fence, sir.”

“What was he doing out there in the middle of the night?”

“I don’t know, sir.  He just sits there and refuses to move from under the tree.  I’ve tried several times, but he starts screaming when I try to get him to stand.  And, there’s something else, sir.”

“What?”

The orderly hesitated, then launched ahead.  “He’s covered in blood up to the elbows, sir.”

Morrell bolted up.  “What?  Is he injured?”

“I don’t think it’s his blood, sir.”

Morrell came around the desk and started for the door.  “Whose, then?”

The orderly shrugged.

“Call Arnie and have him help you get Marks back to his room,” Morrell ordered, shouldering past the man.

“Arnie’s disappeared, doctor.”

Morrell ground to an abrupt halt.  He slowly turned to face the orderly.

“Jesus God.  Not again,” he breathed.

END